A Book of Memories
by Dovewings.of.Narnia
Summary: What starts as an innocent trip to the attic ends up as a trip into a forgotten past. Ann just can't understand how something so amazing could make Mum so very sad. A two-part look at Susan, Post LB- with a bit of a twist.
1. Into the Attic

_Author Note: For a long time now, I've been wondering about Susan. In my last read-through of the Chronicles, I suddenly decided that I liked her very much, more then I ever did when I was younger. Then, she was just "the one who stopped believing." Now I see her as a lot more. I've read plenty of brilliant stories on here that deal with the Gentle queen after her horrific loss. I've also written several, but this is the first that came out at all decent. Reviews are very much appreciated!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, Susan, Lucy, Edmund, Peter, Mr. Tumnus, etc. They belong to C.S. Lewis. I do, however, own Ann, Martin, and Rose. (*cough* Although the names also came from Mr. Lewis. But the characters are mine.)_

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"I think it's a lovely idea," Rose said, setting her bulging grocery bag down on the counter. "I'm sure your parents will be delighted."

Ann smiled and bounced on her toes. "It'll be better then last year, for sure. Breakfast in bed was the wrong idea."

Martin snorted softly. "Wrong because someone apparently can't carry a cup of coffee without spilling it all over."

"I told you it was too full!" Ann cried. "I didn't mean to!"

Rose pulled several cans from the bag and whipped open a cabinet door. "And who was the one who filled it?" she asked, her twinkling eyes focused on Martin.

"Well…" Martin shuffled his feet. "I…"

Their neighbor nodded wisely, sweeping three more cans up. "I thought so. It's the job of older brothers to see that their sisters can handle what they're given."

"Exactly." Ann set her hands on her hips. "What she said."

Martin sighed and deposited his own bag next to Rose's. "Can we just put it down as a failed effort and move on? It made Mum laugh, at least."

Ann grinned and bumped him. "See? I lighten all moods." She pulled out a loaf of bread and skipped across the kitchen to the pantry.

Rose chuckled, crumpled the first bag, now empty, and tossed it into the wastebasket. "Who told you that?"

Ann blinked. "Daddy."

"Ah." The older girl's curls bobbed as she nodded. "He was right, Goldilocks."

Martin rolled his eyes. "Goldilocks? That's a new one."

Rose shrugged lightly and tapped the end of his nose. "I enjoy giving people terms of endearment, Freckles."

The twelve-year-old shuddered and backed away, rubbing his nose furiously. "Freckles? She gets Goldilocks and I get _Freckles_?"

Ann giggled, and he shot her a glare. "Well, at least I don't have the habit of stealing beds and porridge."

She stuck her tongue out and turned her nose up. "I will have you know, _I _have never stolen a thing in my life."

"Never?" Martin asked wickedly, a slight gleam in his eye. "Are you sure?"

She paused. Had she? She racked her brain, trying to think of anything Martin might know about. "Well… not really. There might have been a few…"

Rose finished putting away the last groceries. "Children, children." They both turned to glare at her, and she smiled cheerfully. "If you're going to make dinner, we had best get started."

Ann couldn't help but smile back. "I know where Mum keeps the china; in the attic. She showed me last summer, when we packed up my baby books."

Martin snickered, and Ann narrowed her eyes. "They were in a box before that, you know. Just in my room, not the attic."

"Okay, okay," Rose said, gently setting a hand on each of their backs and nudging them toward the stairs. "You get the dishes, I'll start on the chicken. They won't know what hit them."

Ann bobbed her head and darted upward, clinging to the banister with one hand. Martin followed at a somewhat slower pace. "Ann, the house isn't on fire."

She wrinkled her nose. "Well, of course not. If it was, I would be going _down_."

He chuckled in spite of himself. "That's cute, Annie. Really cute."

Ann scurried down the hall and stopped at the last door, bouncing again as she waited for Martin. He ducked into his room, and she sighed impatiently.

He emerged with an electric torch gripped firmly in his fist. Noticing her strange look, he defended, "What? It's dark up there, even with the light on."

She decided not to argue that and pushed the door open. These stairs were steeper and narrower then the others, and didn't have a handrail. Martin was right; they were a little spooky. He flicked on the light and pointed it at her feet, but didn't say anything.

At the top, Ann stepped to the side and let him go first. She rubbed her arms, wrapped in her new red sweater. "Why's it so cold up here?"

Martin aimed his flashlight at the ceiling and moved it down a support beam until a single bulb came into view. He jumped for the dangling string, falling several inches short. Muttering something under his breath, he tucked the torch into his waistband and tried again. He caught the very end of it, and the light came on with a _pop_. "Don't know. Where are the plates?"

Ann started toward the back of the attic. "Over here, I think."

"You think?"

She ignored him and peered at the closest stack of boxes. "There was a bag on top of it, I remember."

Martin shined his light into the depths of the attic, illuminating a dozen airborne dust particles. Pixies, Daddy always called them.

"Umph!" Ann tripped abruptly and crashed to her hands and knees. "Ow!"

Martin rushed toward her. "Are you okay?" He hooked a hand around her arm and pulled her up.

Ann nodded, blushing. "Yes. I just tripped over that box." She crouched down again. It had fallen over, probably when she bumped it.

Martin moved his flashlight to the exposed side. "Memories," he read out loud. The handwriting was sort of familiar, but it wasn't Mum's; Ann was sure. The old tape securing the flap had come lose, and a big book stuck out.

"What's this?" she asked. A square piece of paper protruded from the top.

Martin leaned over and pulled it out. "A photo?" He flipped it over and scanned the back. " 'Spare Oom, 1940'. Spare Oom?"

Ann arched up on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder as he turned it again and shined the torch on it. It was grainy, rather dusty and faded, but she could still make out four children, two boys and two girls. The bigger boy was sitting in some kind of doorway, with the smallest girl on his knee. The smaller boy was on their left, with the bigger boy's arm around him. The bigger girl was on the right, both hands resting on the bigger boy's knee and her head on the littler girl's shoulder.

"Are they in a wardrobe?" Martin asked in disbelief.

Ann furrowed her brow. "That's what it looks like, isn't it?"

Her brother hovered a finger over the smaller girl. "She looks like you, Ann."

Ann squinted at it. It was hard to make out faces, but Martin was right. Her hair was the same, at least: blonde pigtails that were just a little past the shoulder.

He pulled the picture closer to his face. "And the big one looks kind of like Mum, when she was little."

Ann tilted her head sideways. "I can't tell. And there're probably a million people in the world with dark hair. It could be anyone at all."

Martin shook his head. "I'll bet anything it's Mum. She would have been about…" he paused, apparently calculating. "About twelve in 1940. And we know you look lots like Aunt Lucy, so that's who the little girl probably is. And the boys are Uncle Peter and Uncle Edmund."

They were both silent for a minute. "How old would Aunt Lucy have been?" Ann finally asked.

Martin spread out his fingers, murmuring to himself. "Eight."

"Just one year younger then me. And Mum was your same age." Ann took the picture out of his hand and pulled it close to her face, trying to see through the fuzz. "What were they doing?"

"How should I know?" Martin sat down, cross-legged, on the floor and pulled the book out of the box. The blue cover was faded, just like the picture. He turned it over so that the front was up. It was a scrapbook, Ann could see now.

He blew on the cover, scattering dust. Ann sat down next to him, still pinching the photo between two fingers. There was a little picture window on the front of the book. The paper inside had yellowed with age, but Ann could still make out a flowery border and a title, written in beautiful script.

"Narnia? What does that mean?"

Ann shrugged. "Could it be 'memories' in another language? That's what the box says."

Martin frowned. "I don't know." He took a deep breath as he lifted the cover. Ann did the same. This was a very special picture, and a very special book, she could tell. It deserved lots of reverence.

The first page had a hand-drawn border very similar to the one around the title. All kinds of flowers, mixed in with birds and butterflies. The paper had faint blue lines on it, like Ann's school notebook. Several rows of neat handwriting were centered, broken apart evenly. She could tell at once it was a poem.

_Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,_

_At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,_

_When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death_

_When he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again._

"Aslan? Who's Aslan?" Martin asked.

Ann traced the name with one finger. "I don't know. It's a lovely name though, isn't it? Aslan." She couldn't explain the good feelings that rose up in her when she said it, like unexpectedly getting a present or finding out that Grandmum Anderson was coming to visit.

"It's not a person," Martin said after a long pause.

"Of course not," Ann replied, a little miffed. She was smart enough to figure that out.

"So what kind of animal, do you think? It has a mane…"

Ann thought for a minute. "A horse? Horses have mane."

Martin snorted. "A horse? When have you ever heard a horse roar? Or seen one bear its teeth?"

She turned to glare up at him. "A loud whinny could be a roar! And do you have any better ideas?"

"A whinny couldn't be a roar, silly. A roar is ferocious, it's fearsome, it's—A lion! That's it! I'll bet you anything Aslan's a _lion_. Not a horse."

Ann turned to look at the book again, pouting a little. "Well… Maybe." Actually, she agreed. Aslan had to be a lion. The very name just sounded lion-y. But he didn't have to be mean about it.

There was an awkward pause, then Martin said, "All right, Ann. I'm sorry. A horse was the first thing that popped into my head with 'mane', too. Can we move on?"

Ann smiled and squeezed his arm. "Of course… Freckles," she added with a mischievous giggle.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm turning the page now…"

She settled down right away and turned back to the book. Martin made a dramatic show of lifting the old paper and letting it slip to the side. The next page had a border of trees. Some of them looked almost human, although Ann didn't dwell on that. The only text on here was at the bottom. In the center was a square patch brighter then the rest of the sheet, with lumps of dried glue along the edges.

With a smiled, Ann picked the photo up from the floor next to her leg and set in the square. She held it there with one finger as she read aloud from the bottom, "Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen."

"Narnia's a place," Ann said softly, after another reverent pause.

"That doesn't make sense," Martin argued. But it wasn't a mean arguing. More of a trying-to-understand arguing. "That's definitely a picture of Mum and her siblings. They weren't kings or queens of anywhere. And how could they all be rulers at the same time?"

Ann slowly pulled her hand away from the wardrobe picture, making sure it stayed in place. "I don't know."

Her brother abruptly turned the page, sending the photo flying toward the binding.

"Martin!" Ann shot her hand in and grabbed it. But when she looked up to give him a scolding, she forgot what she was going to say.

The next page was the most beautiful yet. On the previous two, the left-hand sheet had been blank. This one was entirely covered in a drawing. It showed clearing in a snowy wood. A lamppost stood at the center, with a creature holding a red umbrella below it. Ann thought at first it was a human, but she soon saw that couldn't be right. The legs were far too hairy. And instead of shoes, the umbrella-bearer had hooves, like a goat. "It's faun!"

"Or a… a which-a-ma-call-it… A satyr."

Ann brushed the umbrella with her free hand. "I guess. But I still think it's a faun."

When the pair was at last done looking at the lamppost picture, they turned their attention to the right-hand sheet. This had a border of—what else—snowflakes. They were big snowflakes, too, fluffy ones, and all different. The text here was much, much smaller then on the other two pages. It filled nearly all the space, apparently telling a story. Ann squinted at the first line. Martin shined his light on it and read aloud,

"I was eight the first time we went to Narnia. We had been sent away from home because of the war. There were air raids nearly every night. Those are horrible memories. The scream of the sirens, the shrieks of the children as they ran to their bomb shelters… Thank the Lion we didn't have to stay long. Mum sent us to Professor Kirke. He had a huge mansion, way out in the country where the Germans would never think to go. I was scared the first night, but I soon got over it. Peter cheered me—all of us, really—up by talking about all the exploring we could do and the things we might find. Of course, the next day, it would be raining. At the time, it seemed like an awful bore, but now I count it as one of my greatest blessings. We still wanted to explore, so we decided to do it inside the house. Not long into it, we came to a room with nothing but a big wardrobe, filled with fur coats. I loved to feel fur, so I hopped up inside. It was something only such a young child would do, but, again, it was a great blessing in the end. I soon discovered another row of coats. I couldn't, however, feel the back of the wardrobe. Thinking there might be still more fur, I went forward with my arms out… and forward… and forward. Finally, I touched something sharp."

"Ann! Martin!" Both children blinked several times, already taken in by the story. It took Ann a long minute to realize what was happening.

"Rose!" she exclaimed.

"The dishes!"

"Everything all right up there?" She sounded like she might be coming up.

"Yes!" Martin called back. He shut the scrapbook, a little reluctantly. "Ann just knocked over a box!"

"You don't need help?"

Martin carefully laid the book on the nearest stack of boxes and set the one it had come from upright again. Ann still had not moved from the floor. "No, we're fine!" He added to his sister, "Come on, Ann! We still have to get dinner for Mum and Dad. A Valentine's Day surprise, remember?"

"But… I want to see what happens!"

"Come on." Martin glanced at the book. "They'll be home in less then an hour."

With a sigh, Ann climbed to her feet. She gave the wardrobe—she was quite sure it was a wardrobe, now—photo one last longing look, then tucked it into the page it belonged on. "We'll come back when we're done, right?"

"Of course, of course." He nodded hastily and stretched out a hand. "But we've got to find that box!"

"All right, all right." She took the offered hand and pulled him toward the back of the attic. "I'm pretty sure it was over here."

She loosened her grip on Martin and slowed down as the reached the back wall. Most of the attic boxes were pushed to the sides, except for a few stacks, like the one with the "Memories" box in it.

"Here!" she crowed triumphantly. "I found it."

Martin pulled a large cloth bag from the box's top and set it aside. "Great. Now, we have to be really careful not to drop it, okay?"

She bobbed her head in agreement. "Okay. You take that side, and I'll get this one."

He clicked off his torch, making the attic even darker, and shoved it into his pocket. The siblings slid their hands under opposite corners of the heavy box and shuffled sideways until it was clear of the stack.

Ann grunted. "How're we… gonna get this down the stairs?"

Martin frowned. "I have no idea. It's heaver then I thought."

Despite their awkward bundle, the pair made quick progress across the attic. Ann gave Aunt Lucy's scrapbook a wishful glance as she passed, but didn't say any more about it. She could see Martin staring that direction, too.

"I'll go backwards down the stairs," he said finally. "Just be sure you go really, really slow and don't push."

She nodded, concentration overtaking her features. "Got it."

One painfully slow step at a time, Martin eased backward onto the stairs. "Whoa! Whoa! Watch it!"

"I am watching!"

He craned his next to look over his shoulder and didn't say anything else. Ann bit her lip, hard. She made sure not to move down a stair until her brother did. Her arms ached with the weight of the box, and she desperately wished they were already at the bottom.

After what seemed an eternity, they emerged in the second-story hall. Rose was just coming up the main stairs. "Oh, goodness!" She rushed forward and slid her arms under Ann's. "Look at you two strong children!" She checked her feet and said, "I'll take it from here, Ann."

With a sigh of relief, Ann shook her arms and wiggled her fingers. "Thanks, Rose."

She smiled, shuffling sideways. "No problem, sweetie. Here, Martin. Let me go backwards down these steps."

The pair slowly descended. "Ann, can you shut the attic door?" Rose called back.

Ann nodded and turned back the way she had come. She paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back. Rose's head was already out of sight, and it would just take a moment…

She darted through the gap and pounded up the stairs. They were much scarier when she was by herself. Now panting a little, she skittered across the attic and scooped up the Narnia scrapbook. Dust stuck to her sweater from the old cover, but she didn't care. Hugging it to her chest, she ran back down the stairs and shoved the door shut with her foot. She leaned against the wall and tilted it back slightly to read the cover again. "Narnia."

"What was that, hon?"

"Nothing!" She straightened up and trotted over to her room. Reverently, she laid the book on her bedspread. On an impulse, she kissed her fingers and pushed them against the cover. With a skip in her step, she turned and headed back toward the kitchen. As soon as they were done with dinner, she could come back upstairs and finish the story—find out where Narnia was, and who on earth Aslan was.

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_End Note: Part Two will be up soon! Probably tomorrow, but I know as soon as I promise it, it won't happen. Oh, and the picture Ann and Martin found was inspired by a still from LWW. It's currently my avatar, for those who are curious. Except, obviously, they saw book!Pevensies, not movie!Pevensies, lovely as they may be. Review, please! _


	2. Reading with Mum

_Author's Note: So sorry! See, I knew this section wouldn't be up for days. I kept procrastinating. Anyway, here it is, with l__ots of thanks to those of you who have reviewed. Your encouraging comments are _so _appreciated. _

_Also, just to clear up any confusion: Ann and Martin Anderson are siblings. Rose is just their neighbor, she was babysitting them and helped them make a surprise dinner for their parents. I actually started this the day before Valentine's Day, so that's where that came from. :) Anyway, enjoy, and PLEASE review! _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, Susan, Lucy, Edmund, Peter, Eustace, Trumpkin, etc. This also includes a few excerpts from Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the _Dawn Treader, _which are most certainly not mine__. All things mentioned before are property of the talented C.S. Lewis. The only things I own are Ann and her father. _

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A smile stretching across her face, Ann stroked the drawing of Cair Paravel's throne room. Excitement built inside of her, and she felt an almost overwhelming urge to dance around the room. She swallowed hard and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs tighter to keep the precious book in place, right over her heart.

"I'm a princess. I am a princess in Narnia." She pushed her face into her knees and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

There was a tap on the door, and it opened little. Ann uncurled herself and looked up eagerly. Maybe it was Martin…

"What are you up to, sweetie pie?" Susan laughed. "It sure looks exciting."

Ann flung out her arms. "Mum! I was reading this book— because when we went in the attic to—"

"Whoa, whoa." She held up a hand, a puzzled but amused smile on her face. "That's good. What's the story?"

Ann settled down, a demure smile growing on her face. "You should know, Mum. How come you never told me I was a princess?"

Her mother blinked. "A princess? Yes I have. Just—"

"No, no." Ann shook her head, tossing her hair around her face. "A real princess. In Narnia." She paused. "I am a princess, right? Because you're a queen, so…"

The color had drained from Susan's face. "N-narnia? Where did you hear that name?"

Ann blinked, confused by her reaction. "Aunt Lucy's scrapbook. We found it in the attic today."

"Lucy's scrapbook?" From the door, Ann's mother peered at her lap, the strangest expression on her face.

Ann lifted the book up by the sides. "Yes. The one about Narnia."

Susan stumbled forward a few steps. "Let me…" She shivered a little. "Let me see that."

Ann scooted over obligingly. Her mother gingerly hiked herself up onto the corner of the bed, kicking off her shoes and crawling under the blanket. Ann touched her arm. "Are you cold, Mum? You're shaking."

Susan pushed a trembling smile. "No, dear. I'm not cold."

Ann slid half of the scrapbook onto Susan lap and tucked an arm through hers, resting her head on her shoulder. "I'm just right there." Ann tapped the page. "Will you read it to me?"

Susan shuddered. "I…" She breathed in deeply. "I guess. Ahem. Peter made a wonderful High King. King Peter the Magnificent, he was called. And everyone, from the smallest dwarf to the greatest friendly giant, loved Susan. Her title, fittingly, was Queen Susan the Gentle." Her mother's voice broke, and Ann gave her a curious look. After a moment, she continued. "'Edmund was called King Edmund the Just, since he simply amazing in court, and a great warrior besides. Both of my brothers were. When I got older, and learned archery, they let me come with them to battle sometimes. Susan, bless her heart, never came. She hated to see anyone get hurt." Ann squeezed her mother's arm and cuddled closer. Susan looked down and gave another trembling smile.

"There are so many stories I could tell. But I suppose I must first finish the one I've started. It ends fifteen years after it begins—"

"But wait!" Ann wrinkled her nose. "She didn't…"

"Hush," Susan whispered. "Let me finish." She found her place again. "Mr. Tumnus sent word that the White Stag had been seen in his part of the forest, the one that could give you wishes if you caught it. We were all dying for a break from politics and everything else, so we packed up for the hunt. It was lovely while it lasted. Autumn had come again, and the trees were positively splendid. Before long, it was only us four, racing after the Stag. We stopped, however, when we saw something strange. It looked to us like a tree of iron, with a light at the top. But the trees were so thick, we couldn't understand who it would give light to. We all felt, however, that something strange would happen if we went on. Susan—dear, dear Susan—didn't think we should test it. But on we went. And before we had gotten far, suddenly I remembered. A lamppost. That was what we had seen. And it wasn't another ten steps before the trees were gone, replaced with something soft and warm. And then… oh, then. I tumbled down onto a wooden floor. I was a little girl again, eight years old. My crown was gone; my riding habit was gone. Not one moment or even second had passed since we climbed into the wardrobe."

Ann gasped out loud. "Oh no! But what about the Narnians? What about—"

Her mother made a strange hiccupping noise.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Ann rubbed her arm, not sure what else to do. Tears stung the back of her own eyes. She had never seen her mother cry before.

"That… wasn't… the end," Susan choked out. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took several more deep breaths.

"But Aunt Lucy said that it was."

A thin smile emerged from the tears as Susan looked down at Ann. "She said it was the end of that _particular_ story." She reached for the next page. "It wasn't the end of the adventures in Narnia."

Ann eagerly reached past her and flipped the next sheet. The illustration was a thick wood, with some apple trees near the back. "Keep reading! Keep reading!"

Her mother laughed, a little sadly, and cleared her throat. "Oh, my dear." After a short pause, she began again. "A year passed, and the time came for me to start boarding school. I was nine then, and—"

"My same age!" Ann interrupted in delight.

Her mother looked down at her, but instead smiling, her lips trembled. "Yes." She closed her eyes briefly, then went on. "I was nine then, and the idea made me rather nervous. We were all miserable sitting on the train platform. Peter and Edmund went to a different school then Susan and me, and this was the place we split up. Being separated was awful, and none of us were looking forward to it. But suddenly, I felt something pinching me."

Ann snuggled closer to Susan, hugging her arm with both hands and staring in delight at the picture. Having Mum read to her was even better then reading herself. But she didn't quite understand why Susan was so sad. She finally decided that it must be since Aunt Lucy was dead now. _I would hate, hate, hate it if Martin died._

Her mother turned the page just then, and Ann focused on the next picture. This one showed a channel with sparkling blue water. A little rowboat was out near the middle of it, with two people standing up and holding a bundle between them. The people wore helmets and had swords, but… "They don't have faces!"

Susan laughed. "No. Lucy never drew faces. She always said that she could do the backs fine, but not the fronts."

"Oh." Ann nodded slowly. "Yes. There were only the backs of people in all the other pictures. But she drew the animals."

Susan paused for a long minute before reading on. Her voice was shaking again. "Susan and Peter ran into the water. I remember promising myself at that exact moment that I would work my very, very hardest on swimming next term."

The longer Susan read, the more Ann enjoyed it. By the time she got to Trumpkin's story about Caspian, the tears were gone, and her voice was filled with expression. She clearly conveyed every joy, every fear, every danger. That went on for another several pages. "I had turned to follow them, but then I stopped, for I had seen the very thing that I wanted to see from the moment we arrived. 'Look! Look! Look!' I cried. 'The Lion! Asl-Aslan H-himself.'" Susan stopped all together then, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Ann looked up at her in puzzlement. Susan shook her head several times, her body shaking with sobs. Ann swallowed hard and looked back at the picture, a gorge with a river at the bottom and little cliffs all around. The silence, broken only by strangled cries from her mother, went on for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Ann cleared her throat and lifted the scrapbook closer.

" 'Do you really mean—?' began Peter.

" 'Where do you think you saw him?' asked Susan.

"That annoyed me. 'Don't talk like a grown-up. I didn't _think_ I saw him. I saw him,' insisted I." Ann paused and looked up at Susan again. Her crying had lessened, and she seemed to be listening. Ann licked her lips and read on, trying to pour the same emotion into her words that Mum had.

By the time she got to the part about their being shot at, she felt like she _was_ Lucy. Instead of a wardrobe or a horn, she had used an old scrapbook to get into the magical world of Aslan. Susan had started crying hard again, but Ann was hardly even aware of it, wrapped up in Narnia.

"I was sleeping really deeply, and it was so strange how I woke up. Someone had called me, of that I was sure, but I wasn't sure of _who_. At first I thought it might be Father, but that wasn't right. It wasn't Peter, either; he was still asleep. Then the Person called again. It was so strange and wonderful and exciting. I just got up and walked off. The trees were moving about! They weren't quite awake, but they were close, so close."

The bedroom door creaked open, and Ann broke off abruptly. Dad stuck his head in. "Susan? Ann? What are you doing?"

Ann looked around her mother, who was again pinching the bridge of her nose. "Daddy! I'm reading a story!"

He started to chuckle, but he suddenly stopped and took another step into the room, staring hard at his wife. "Susie? Are you crying?"

She waved a hand in the air. "I'm fine." Her voice cracked a little, and she winced. "Ann just found Lucy's old scrapbook, and it…" She stopped. "It just made me a little emotional."

He came closer and laid a hand on Susan's shoulder. "Honey, if it's making you that sad, you should stop! Perhaps you can look at it in the morning? Everything looks better—"

"No!" Ann blurted out. "Who was calling? I—" She caught at her father's look and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. If you want to stop, Mum, I'll stop."

Susan laid a hand on her husband's arm. "I'm fine." She smiled weakly. "Really. It just caught me off guard. It's good… Ann needs to know these things." She looked down and gave a little nod. "I'll get her in bed at a decent hour, I promise."

Ann crossed her fingers as her father shifted from foot to foot, thinking. "Well. If you're sure…"

Susan patted his hand and wrapped her free arm around Ann's shoulders. "I'm sure." She turned to her daughter. "Are you all ready to go to sleep, as soon as we're finished?"

Ann nodded vigorously. "Yes, Mum."

Her father sighed. "All right then. Carry on." Leaning over, he kissed each of them on the top of the head. "I love you."

Susan nodded and let her gaze drift back to the open book. "You, too." Her voice was so quiet, it took Ann a second to realize what she said.

He padded across the carpet and shut the door behind him. Susan breathed in deeply and snuggled closer to Ann. "Just a little longer, sweet girl."

Ann smiled up at her. "Okay. Thank you." She looked back down at the scrapbook and found her place. After an appropriate pause, she read, "The trees were moving about! They weren't quite awake, but they were close, so close. I went in among them, stepping to and fro as though it were some sort of dance. For split seconds, I would see their human shapes…"

The story ran on. Ann was absorbed back into it. She was the one who saw Aslan, who had to wake the others and convince them to follow her. She was only vaguely aware that Mum was crying again. Ann's favorite drawings so far, she decided, were the ones with Aslan: the one of him behind the Stone Table, having risen from the dead; the one of him at night, with the trees; the one of Aunt Lucy, Mum, and Aslan dancing with all the visitors in front of the How; and the one in the glade with the door to nowhere.

"I was so, so sad. It was simply awful to change out of my nice Narnian things back into my dingy school uniform. For so long, I had longed to come home, and now I had to leave again, say my goodbyes. This time was a little better, at least. I knew I would be coming back, at least probably. I couldn't understand how Peter and Susan bore it. Saying goodbye to Caspian, to Trufflehunter, to Trumpkin, and to Reepicheep was bad enough, but it was so horrible to say goodbye to Aslan. My last memory of that trip is his wonderful, big eyes.

"We lined up, hands on each others shoulders, and walked through the door to see three scenes: the glade Narnia, an island in the midst of clear blue waters, and the train platform. But the platform soon swallowed up the others, and we were back in England. We all stared at each other for a few minutes. 'Well,' said Peter. 'We _have_ had a time.'

"And then Edmund—oh, Edmund—spoke up. 'Bother! I've left my new torch in Narnia!'"

Ann giggled softly, but there didn't seem to be much else to say. Her mother pressed her lips together in a soft smile, although tears still shown bright in her eyes. Her face was very pale and her eyes puffy.

Ann let her head drop onto her mum's shoulder. "Was _that_ the end?" She hoped not.

There was silence for so long, Ann began to fear that Susan wouldn't answer. But finally she whispered in a trembling voice, "I don't know. Why don't you turn the page and see?"

Ann didn't quite understand what she meant, but she didn't want to ask. It was already well past her bedtime, and she was afraid any excess questions would bring on the end of the readings.

The next page was a picture of a picture. Dingy wallpaper surrounded a lovely wooden frame. The painting inside was of a marvelous ship, green and gold with a purple sail. It was just running up a wave, coming toward where the painter would be.

Susan reached out a finger to touch it, another tear slipping down her cheek. "How lovely."

Ann nodded. "What's it called, Mum?"

She swallowed hard and shook her head. "I don't know, sweetie. I never let them tell me."

Ann furrowed her brow. "What do you mean? Why not?"

She sighed deeply, looking away toward the window. "Read on. I'm sure you'll eventually find out."

Ann studied the side of her mother's face for a long moment before turning back to the page. After another glance at the ship, she began reading aloud, "The summer of 1942 was a very exciting one for our family. Father got a lecturing job in America for four months, and Mother went with him. She had always wanted to see America, and it had been ten years since she had a real holiday. Peter ended up staying with Professor Kirke. We would have all gone, but he wasn't living in the same house anymore, and there was only room for one. Peter had exams to study for, so it was decided he would get the most out of that. Susan got to go with Mum and Dad to America. Ed and I were a jealous, but she was so pleased it was hard to begrudge her anything. It got harder, though, when we found out where we were to stay: with our cousin, Eustace Clarence Scrubb."

Ann burst out laughing. Susan finally looked at her, a quiet chuckle slipping out. "What?"

"Eustace Clarence Scrubb! What an awful name!"

Susan nodded a little. Her eyes, red-rimed as they were, twinkled a little. "Yes. I really don't know what Aunt Alberta was thinking."

Ann shook her head a little and looked back to the book. "Anyone named Alberta must have enough problems already. Now where was I?" She ran her finger along the text. "Ah. Eustace was awful to us, and worse because he had once overheard about Narnia. He thought it was all a game and loved to make fun of us about it whenever he had the chance, because he didn't play games like that. All he cared about was books and facts and being a vegetarian and killing innocent bugs and pinning them to cards.

"The one thing I liked about living with the Scrubbs was the painting in my little bedroom. For you see, it wasn't just any painting. The ship it showed was undeniably Narnian."

Ann sneaked a glance at her mother as she continued reading about Eustace and his Narnia-mocking assonance. She was studying the drawing of the painting, biting her lip so hard it turned white. Ann frowned, losing her place for a second. She didn't understand why Mum was so very unhappy. _Maybe she's still homesick for there. It's horrible that she can't ever go back._

The story ran on. Ann's excitement built with every word. Thank goodness only three years had gone by since their last trip! She liked Caspian immensely, and would have hated to find out that he died thousands of years ago. Susan seemed even more interested in this story then in others. In fact, she almost seemed more shocked then Ann did at some things. She actually started trembling when they got to the part about the slavers. At least she was crying less.

Ann was starting to get thirsty, but she didn't want to stop to ask for water. She felt so awful for Aunt Lucy when she had to go into the magician's house. Susan kept murmuring, "Oh, Lu. Oh, oh, Lu," over and over. Both Ann and Susan had to stop and laugh about the Dufflepods.

When she got to the part about the Eustace the dragon, Susan gasped out loud. That startled Ann so much she completely lost her place. After that, she stop shaking and murmuring so much.

Susan started crying again when she reached the part about Reepicheep sailing away, off the end of the world. Ann's throat was feeling a bit thick, as well. She swallowed hard and kept reading about wading through the lilies. She turned the next page. It showed a sandy island, with a Lamb on it. A wild joy rose up in her when she realized it was Aslan. The best parts were the ones with him. She nodded eagerly as she read of Lucy's request to come back to Narnia soon.

" 'Dearest," said Aslan very gently, 'you and your brother will never come back to Narnia.'

"I felt my world break apart. 'Oh, _Aslan_!' Edmund and I cried together.

"Aslan looked at me, and I knew He felt my sorrow, just as He always had. He said, 'You are too old, children, and you must begin to come close to your world now.'

"I was sobbing at that point, whether He understood the sorrow or not. 'It isn't Narnia, you know,' I managed to get out. 'It's _you_. We shan't meet _you_ there. And how can we live, never meeting you?'"

Now Ann was crying, too. She felt Aunt Lucy's pain, Uncle Edmund's pain, Uncle Peter's pain, and Mum's pain. And something else too, deep inside of her: why hadn't she ever been to Narnia? Why couldn't she meet Aslan? It wasn't fair!

Her mother squeezed Ann's shoulders and cleared her throat. But instead of the comforting words Ann had been expecting, she leaned closer to the scrapbook and began to read. " 'But you shall meet me, dear one,' said Aslan.

" 'Are—are you there, too, Sir?' asked Edmund.

" 'I am,' said Aslan. 'But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.'

"A sort of calm washed over me at those words, and I stopped crying so hard. I remembered the end of our last trip. Peter and Susan had been told the same things; that was how they had dealt with it. I would do the same. I straightened my shoulders and managed a weak smile at Edmund. He also understood, I could see it in his face. But there was one other thing I wanted to know.

" 'And is Eustace never to come back here either?' asked I. I could see by my cousin's face he had wanted to ask himself.

" 'Child," said Aslan to me, 'do really need to know that? Come, I am opening the door in the sky.'

"And then that great blue curtain behind us tore, and white light poured through from beyond. I felt Aslan's mane one last time, and his kiss on my forehead, and then—we were back in Cambridge."

Susan released her corner of the book and sat back. Ann smiled and let out a satisfied sigh. She could know Aslan, after all. "Did you?"

Susan frowned. "Did I what, dear?"

"Did you learn Aslan's other Name? What is, please?"

Tears rose up in her eyes again, and Ann winced. She hadn't meant to start her crying again. "The others did. I did not."

Ann frowned. That didn't make any sense. Why…

"Eustace did go back to Narnia, with his friend," Susan said quietly. "I don't know if Lu wrote about it, though."

There was a pause. "Well, let's find out," Ann said finally. She reached for the next page.

"It's far past your bedtime," her mother murmured.

"Please!" Ann cried. "Just… at least let me look at the pictures."

After a moment, Susan nodded. "All right. But no reading. We can finish tomorrow."

"Just a little? So I know what's going on?"

"Ann."

"Oh, all right." It was better then nothing.

The next page was rather unimpressive. It showed an old wall with bushes around it, and a door. "Where's that, Mum?"

Susan sighed a little. "Well… At school that term, Lucy got a letter from Eustace. He got back in with his friend, Jill Pole. I guess they used that door." Her voice dropped even lower. "I didn't let them tell me that story either."

Ann snuggled closer to Susan. She had a feeling she was starting to understand why her mother was so sad. Maybe she hadn't dealt with losing Narnia as well as Aunt Lucy had first thought.

Susan flipped the page, and Ann looked back at the scrapbook. These pictures were fascinating, but her mother didn't leave any one open for too long. Soon she was barely even setting the pages down. A good hundred flew by. Ann saw Aslan several times, as well as the backs of other children and some armies. She wondered if perhaps Aunt Lucy had told some stories from the Golden Age. Surely Eustace's other trip couldn't have been _that_ long.

Finally, Susan slowed down. There weren't many pages left in the book. She paused to touch a picture of a big city, built all around a hill. "Tashbaan," she whispered. "She must be telling stories about our time as Kings and Queens now."

Ann yawned, then winced. Now she was sure to be made to go to sleep. Susan looked down at her. "It is late, Annie. I bet you're tired."

Ann stifled another yawn. "The last picture. I want to see the last picture."

Her mother glanced at the clock and sighed. "Oh, all right." She turned several more pages in quick succession. "There you…" She trailed off and stared at the book with a puzzled expression.

"It's not finished!" Ann exclaimed in surprise. "What is that even a picture of?"

Susan squinted at the sketch. It wasn't colored in like all the others, and it was hard to make sense of what was happening. There were still eraser marks and guidelines, and some things were only half there. She silently counted eight people: an old man and an old woman, another man, maybe just a few years younger then her father, three boys who looked to be teenagers, and two girls of roughly the same age. "Where is that? Did Eustace go again?"

Her mother turned to the opposite page. It had no border, and the text only partially filled it. She read aloud, "After so long, I assumed this scrapbook was finished. I didn't it want it to be so, but it has even been two years since I finished writing the story of Cor and Aravis. However, now it seems Eustace and Jill will be going back to Narnia. The five of us (that is, Peter, Edmund, Eustace, Jill, and I) were all visiting Aunt Polly and Professor Kirke when it happened: we saw a Narnian." Susan's voice broke then, and Ann picked up where she had left off.

"He popped up right in the middle of our dinner party. He looked almost like a ghost, and didn't seem to be able to talk, but, just as with the _Dawn Treader_, everything about him looked Narnian.

"Peter asked him who he was, and his lips moved, but no sound came out. After only a second, he faded away. He looked so awful, poor man. I shudder to think what might have been happening. Anyway, we must try and help. We thought about it, and decided the best plan would be the magic rings. Ed and Pete are on their way to try and dig them up from the professor's old backyard. Eustace and Jill have to start school again very soon, but of course it won't take any time at all. The five us (now being, Professor Kirke, Aunt Polly, Eustace, Jill, and I) leave to meet the boys tomorrow."

She looked up at her mother, throat tight again. "That was the end, wasn't it? The train crashed."

Susan was crying again. With one hand over her face, she nodded.

"I thought so." Ann looked down at her lap, blinking back her own tears. The full impact of what had happened to her mother had never occurred to her before. Susan had lost everyone, at least everyone who really understood her. Ann wondered about who Aunt Polly was, and what rings of the professor's Aunt Lucy was referring to, but she didn't ask. This was not the time to speak.

After almost ten minutes had passed with no sounds but Susan's crying, Ann gently shut the scrapbook. "I'm sure Aslan took care of Narnia, even without Eustace and Jill," she said softly.

Her mother took several deep breaths and wiped her cheeks before giving Ann a shaky smile. "Yes. He had a way of doing that."

Ann wrapped her arms around her mother and set her head on her shoulder. "You know? I'm glad you weren't with them."

The sobs started again, and Susan turned to hug Ann back. She didn't say anything, just rocked her gently to and fro. Ann yawned and blinked a few times, and Susan pulled away. "Are you tired, dear?"

The little girl nodded, but she didn't let go. "You can stay, if you're still sad."

Susan gently pried Ann's arms apart and slid from under the covers. She set the scrapbook on Ann's desk, letting her fingers glide across the cover. "Lay down, sweetie."

Ann obeyed, patting her pillow and pulling the covers up to her chin. Her mother smoothed her hair and whispered, "Tomorrow, we can start our search for Aslan. I have a good idea of where to look."

Ann smiled up at Susan. "I would like that." She put out her arms for one last hug. As her mother obliged, she cleared her throat. "Mummy?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think I could ever go to Narnia?"

Susan gave another little shudder and pulled away. She pulled the chain on Ann's light, plunging the room into darkness. Ann repeated, "Do you?"

Susan leaned down and gave her forehead a kiss. "My dear, sweet girl. Tonight, I think you _are_ Narnia."


End file.
